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Wednesday, November 28, 2012

And then one day Sheldon says to me, "You never wear Sunday." It was all suspicious. Where was Sunday? Where had I left Sunday?

Wayyyyyyy late as always, but here we are.

Some Things That Happened At, Around, or During My 20-Year High School Reunion

Remember, my class was only 101 students, most of whom went through the entire 13 years K-12 together, and many of whom still live in our hometown ...

--The time for prep having slipped away in the course of daily life and then interstate travel, I went to the pumpkin patch thing with unwashed hair, a shirt that did not go with the only pair of shorts I brought which I had to wear because it was almost ninety fucking degrees in October, and sandals with not even the barest attempt at the pedicurical arts. And you know what? That was OK. Ten years ago I would have died rather than show up like that; this time, it was not even a thing. Growing up! I can do it!

--A classmate told me she had my name on her baby name shortlist each of the three times she was pregnant, because "You're smart and pretty, and that's what I wanted for my girls." It was honestly one of the sweetest things anyone ever said to me.

--I talked olden tymes with one of the former hotties of the class, with whom I was pretty good friends in the last couple of years of HS in a casual way, and whose ass I kept from FAILING ART sophomore year (we had to do a team project, I did 100% of it and let him stand with me at the presentation to the class, and "our" mutual A put him just barely over the line), for like ten solid minutes -- and then he goes, "So -- I'm sorry -- I didn't catch your name -- who are you again?" The other former hottie (and I mean, both these dudes were FORMER hotties, lordamercy, time is not always kind) in our convo triangle almost fainted, then started laughing his ass off -- "DUDE! It's [Gleemonex]! How can you not know that? She looks EXACTLY THE SAME, BRO!" All night this second guy kept coming up to me going, "Ahh yeah, who are you again?" and laughing more. It was hilaaare! (Really it was -- and it kept getting funnier the more beer we drank.)

--This one guy, after a really good conversation and him telling me about his family -- four kids, two adopted siblings plus one "mini-me" and one profoundly special-needs child -- almost assaulted me for saying I'm voting for Obama (again). I swear he wanted to punch me.

--Among the bathroom reading in Ma Gleemonex's house, where we were obvs. staying, was a very slickly-produced, high-end, Martha Stewart Living-looking magazine called life:beautiful. Only it was like -- bizarro-world Martha. Cause it was Christian -- and y'all, the Christians are not well-known for their design sense and production values (OMFS, the clip art, the default fonts, the lack of proofreading in the average Christian media item ... ). So it looks like Real Simple or something, and there's these ... these articles ... like the one about "pro-life films" (reviews, summaries, guidelines for doing a movie nite at your church and how to talk about abortion when there might even be some babykilling sluts in the audience that you don't even know about!), tips for DIY "backyard Bible clubs" (basically VBS but in some lady's yard instead of church, and presented as a way to get the unchurched neighborhood mini-heathens into the christing lifestyle, which I swear to Shatner if anybody recruited my kid into something like that without my consent, I'd burn their fucking house down), recipes for "fun" summer snacky cakes and cheesy poofs (suggested accompaniments: lemonade, peach tea, lime fizz ... ugh, teetotalers), that sort of thing. Despite my utter repugnance, I was fascinated -- could not put this horrible sneaky thing down. I'm haunted by it still.

--We drank actual alcohol, legally, at a restaurant that is inside the town limits! Holy shit! That might have been the most bizarro thing of all, come to think of it.

--I had fun. And I think even Mr. Gleemonex -- the tallest, slimmest, most handsome of all the husbands -- didn't hate every single minute of his life those few days. Although he is still prone to occasional reminders that I "owe him, big time." Which is true. :-)

4 Comments:

Love this. I mean, I'm in San Antonio and went to HS with 700 other kids, but still. My husband went to a primarily Jewish public school with 100 other kids in another state. And while I'm never surprised at my graduating class statistics, he is always like, "Hold up. HOW many kids in your class do you know in jail?" (The answer is at least 3 but 2 are only for having illegal grow houses and maybe a gun stash, so you know, nobody murdered anyone or whatever.) My 20th comes up in a few years and I cannot WAIT for it now.

I'm from a small southern town whose graduating class consisted of around 200. My 20 year is coming up this summer and I am one of the few who escaped that place and became a commie liberal so I'm pretty pumped about it. My senior superlative was "most individualistic" which is code for "weirdest" but considering my fellow classmates, I wore it as a badge of honor. My plan is to consume mass quantities of alcohol and make fun of the popular people, so pretty much nothing has changed in the last 20 years.

Jane Ann: Ha! That was me too -- I was, like, "Most Creative Dresser" or something (aka "you dress funny, nutjar"). Oh, and in the major categories, which have remained fixed for over 60 years at that school, I got "Winning Personality," the category usually for that gal everyone thinks is just so sweet and naaaaahhhs (TX accent rendering of "nice"), but occasionally, as with me, goes to the loudmouth weirdo.

Everyone: I would highly, HIGHLY encourage you to go to your 20-year and later reunions. All the old shit is gone -- the shit you might worry about -- and there's nothing left but hilarity. Honest! Have fun, lay some ghosts to rest, get drunk, act like a dork. :-)

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